


Brownie Blaster

by Adolphus Longestaffe (adolphus_longestaffe)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Cock Bondage, Cock Cages, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Rough Oral Sex, Top Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolphus_longestaffe/pseuds/Adolphus%20Longestaffe
Summary: H: Tell her you have been a very naughty boy and that you didn’t deserve your brownies.





	Brownie Blaster

Going into a restaurant to eat alone isn’t exactly what most people would consider a good time. If you find yourself in such a situation, chances are you’re taking your lunch break in the middle of a busy workday, you got stood up for a date, or you’re doing that thing people do in movies where they honor the memory of a dead partner by making themselves miserable and eating alone in their favorite restaurant on their anniversary.

Considering the current time, just past nine on a Friday night, there was little to no chance the tall, handsome gentleman sitting in the corner booth was in the middle of his workday. Since this greasy-spoon diner was not the kind of place people take their sweeties on dates, and since no one does that dumb movie thing anyway, those explanations didn’t even cross the waitresses’ minds. But the man became an object of deep interest to the friendly, efficient ladies of Gary’s Grub ‘n’ Go. Partially on account of the fact that he was such a tall, handsome man sitting all alone, but primarily because he looked so damned happy about it.

“What’d he order?” Jolene wanted to know.

“Nothin’ yet,” Kathleen said. “Said he needed a minute. Wouldn’t even hear the specials.”

“I bet he gets a steak,” Darlene offered.

“In this hash-hole? Not if he wants to keep his teeth,” Jolene retorted. “I bet he goes breakfast. He looks like a bacon man.”

“He’s lookin’ at the desserts,” Kathleen said. She pointed a pink-polished finger at the man, who had indeed flipped his laminated menu over to the back and was perusing the sweet selections.

“Mhmm,” Jolene said, eyeing the broad-shouldered man up and down. “I wish he’d have me for dessert.”

Darlene replied that Jolene was a slut. Jolene contended that Darlene was the slut. Then Kathleen explained that they were both sluts and she’d better not catch them bothering her customer.

“What’s he doin’ now?” Jolene inquired.

“Looks like he’s takin’ a picture of the menu with his phone,” Kathleen said. “I can’t imagine what on earth for. Hey, I said get back to work, you little hussies, y’all got four and six waitin’ for water still.”

The conclave dispersed and the ladies went to distractedly attend to other customers while their mystery simmered. The man had in very truth taken a picture of the menu with his phone, and he had sent that picture to a contact simply listed as H. He set the unwieldy, trifold thing down on the table and sipped his water, no ice, patiently. The phone vibrated.

H: This dessert menu is not to my liking.

H: How can there be so many terrible options at once.

jesse: Should I go somewhere else sir?

H: I will assume that was a typo.

jesse: Should i go somewhere else Sir?

H: Very good. No. I can work with this. Have you finished your water? All three glasses?

jesse: workin on 3rd now sir

H: jesse, please.

jesse: Workin on third now Sir.

H: Close enough. Order two pieces of dry toast, a side order of the thing called “curly fries,” a Brownie Blaster with whipped cream and cherries, and a cup of black coffee. All to arrive together. The coffee included.

jesse: Yes Sir.

H: Send me a picture when the food arrives.

jesse: Yes Sir.

H: Good boy.

jesse: <3

H: Ugh.

Kathleen, seeing that the man had put his menu down, sidled over to the booth and gave him her brightest, pink-lipstickiest smile (Kathleen prided herself on her lipstick and fingernail polish always matching).

“You ready, honey?” she said sweetly.

“Yes, ma’am,” the tall drink of water answered in his smooth, southern lilt. “I’d like to get some toast if I could, just plain with nothin’ on it, and let’s see…a side of curly fries, and one of them Brownie Blasters. And a cup of coffee. Black.”

Kathleen eyed him suspiciously, but he cracked a sly little grin like the two of them were having a private joke together, and it was so sweet and pretty to see, she got butterflies in her stomach and couldn’t help grinning back.

She said, “Alright sugar,” like it was something people ordered every day. “Wheat, white, rye, or cinnamon raisin toast?”

“Hm,” the charming cowboy said. “Ain’t that a conundrum. Think you could gimme a sec?”

“To decide what kind of toast you want?”

“Yes, ma’am.” White teeth, big brown eyes, Kathleen defeated.

“No problem sweetie, I’ll be right back in a sec with your coffee.”

“Oh, no wait, ma’am, I’d like the coffee to come out with all the food. Just so’s it’s hot when I get to needin’ it, you know?”

“Uh…alright, you’re the boss, honey.”

The baffled waitress retreated to the kitchen call an emergency conference with her interested coworkers.

jesse: white, wheat, rye, or cinnamon raisin toast Sir?

H: It does not matter. You will not be eating it.

H: Rye.

jesse: Yes Sir.

H: Have you finished your water?

jesse: Yes Sir. May I use the restroom?

jesse: May i use the restroom?

H: Very good boy. Yes, you may.

The handsome cowboy tipped his hat and flashed one of those devastating smiles as he passed the three waitresses, who he thought spent an awful lot of time standing around chatting when the place was so full of customers. He’d finished his restroom business, and was musing on the mysteries of the food service industry when his phone chirped in his pocket. He looked at it.

H: Wash your hands.

jesse: oh come on honey I aint a dirty kindergardener

H: It is spelled kindergartener and now you have earned a consequence.

jesse: I mean Yes Sir I’m washin em

H: It is too late for that.

jesse: i mean yes Sir i’m washin em

jesse: shit

jesse: what kind of consequence?

H: I suppose you will have to wait and find out.

An electric little thrill shivered up the cowboy’s spine. The heavy steel sleeve pinched and constricted as his cock began to swell, which of course, made him harder. His knees almost buckled with the sharp, needles of pain as the screws dug into the delicate tissue of his frenulum. His cock, being a much wiser man than he, sensed that it was outmatched and stood down. He collected himself and strolled out of the restroom attempting to look casual, but he found he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Not even when Kathleen came back to tell him they were all out of curly fries and would he mind sweet potato. This time she stood tapping her foot while he typed the message into his phone.

“Sweetie,” she said finally, “are you askin’ someone’s advice about whether to sub your fries?”

“Well, no I ain’t, ma’am. I’m askin’ permission.”

“Permission?” Kathleen said dubiously. “What in sam-hell do you mean? From who, your momma?”

“I uh, I’m on a special diet.”

“A diet that includes Brownie Blasters and fries?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kathleen paused. “It any good?”

“You have no idea. Oh, there we go. He says sweet potato is fine.”

“He?”

The big brown eyes and beaming smile worked their spell on Kathleen again and she went away as happy as if the man had explained the situation to her entire satisfaction. The three waitresses watched from a prudent distance as the object of their astonishment cut his dry toast into quarters, stacked the quarters neatly on the plate, and took a photo with his phone. They ignored tables seven, three, and twelve as he ate his sweet potato fries one by one with no condiments (not even honey mustard, which Kathleen had assured him was so delicious) and then proceeded to eat the whipped cream and cherries from his Brownie Blaster, leaving the warm, chewy brownies entirely untouched. They were at a collective loss.

The cowboy took another photo with his phone and then sat there just enjoying his coffee like he’d been behaving himself like a normal human being and not some kind of culinary terrorist. Darlene threw her hands up in disgust and went to earn her tips because some of us were trying to live in a society. Kathleen and Jolene were more tenacious. Jolene contrived to pass the man’s booth by chance with a carafe of coffee.

“Freshen y’up, sugar?” she offered, lifting the steaming pot.

“No, thank you ma’am,” the gorgeous lips said. “But if you see Kathleen, could you let her know I’m ready for the check? Thank you, ma’am.”

“Say, sugar, we got a one-hundred percent satisfaction guarantee.” She indicated to the untouched brownies. “If you didn’t like your Brownie Blaster, you should let us take it off the bill for you.”

“That’s mighty kind of you ma’am, but I liked it very much. I’m happy to pay for what I ordered.”

“I know I couldn’t leave those brownies sittin’ there unless I was feelin’ sick. You feelin’ alright?”

“I’m feelin’ just fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Sweetie, listen,” Jolene said, apparently deciding subtlety was going nowhere fast and determined to have this out. “You didn’t eat half what you ordered and you did some peculiar things with your food and I’m just dyin’ to know why. Would you tell me?”

The man’s phone chirped. He grinned apologetically and picked it up. Jolene, supremely indifferent to her other customers’ immediate need for coffee, stood and waited.

H: Did you get your check yet? I am growing tired of waiting.

jesse: No Sir the waitress is about to bring it.

jesse: one of em wants to know why i didn’t finish my dessert. what do i say?

About thirty seconds passed, then a reply came back.

H: Tell her you have been a very naughty boy and that you didn’t deserve your brownies.

jesse: wait honey are you serious?

H: Have you ever known me to be otherwise?

jesse: No Sir.

The cowboy stuffed his phone into his pocket.

“Well?” Jolene said.

He looked up at her pleadingly with those big, pretty eyes. His cheeks burned with humiliation and his face flushed red as a beet. The screws dug into his cock and his voice came out strained and thin.

“Well…ma’am. I’ve…I’ve been a very…naughty boy and I didn’t deserve my brownies.”

Jolene blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You’ve been…a naughty boy?”

“Yes ma’am.” The cowboy’s voice was almost back to normal. He grinned sheepishly.

“Ok…I think I’m out of my league here. Kathleen’ll be by with your check in a minute.”

Jolene retreated from the table as swiftly as she could without drawing attention. She was only nineteen and she wasn’t exactly sure she was ready for a glimpse into whatever this was. Maybe she should get to church more often. The strange (though still very handsome) cowboy tipped his waitress and his hat generously and departed, leaving the ladies to muse on the oddities of human nature. He got out his phone again as he strolled back toward his hotel.

jesse: On my way Sir

H: Don’t speak when you come in. Shut the door, remove your clothing and boots, and wait on your knees.

jesse: Yes Sir

jesse: hat?

H: Leave it on.

The cowboy’s knees went wobbly again and he had to lean on the crosswalk sign to steady himself. The five-minute walk back to the absurdly ostentatious hotel was the longest journey of his life. He trembled head to toe with anticipation. His gut wound itself up in a tight little knot. His cock, not having entirely learned its lesson, was raw and tender from the screws biting into the delicate skin again and again. His hands shook and he fumbled with the key card, dropping it once and then inserting it backwards before he managed to correctly slide it through the reader. He held his breath and opened the door as silently as he could.

The room was pitch black, but for the pale glow of the street light creeping in at the edges of the heavy curtains. Like a man in a lion’s den, he listened breathlessly for any sound, a step, a rustle of fabric, anything to alert him to where the predator lurked. Silence. He undressed hastily and got on his knees on the ice-cold marble of the entryway floor. He waited. Nothing. He waited longer. Still nothing. He prepared himself to wait some more and succeeded. His knees ached and grew stiff. His legs began to protest. He jumped almost literally out of his skin when with no precursor, his hat was knocked abruptly off his head.

“J—jesus!” he yelped. His heart pounded and he panted like he’d been sprinting.

A low, sonorous laugh. A warm, heavy hand in his hair. His body liquefied at the touch. He breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. Safe. Home. Him. The hand tightened around the forelocks of his hair, pulling his head back firmly and slowly. The rough bristle of a beard against his chin. Soft lips just barely touching his. He strained to reach them but they drew away. Hot breath on his ear. A low, purring murmur that set his body quivering like a high-tension power line.

“I told you not to speak.”

Now he could hear the soft rustle of fabric in the dark. A silky sleeve or some part of a loose robe brushed his shoulder as the voice moved around behind him.

“But you are such a good boy otherwise. Maybe I will forgive your—Jesse…are you wearing your socks still?”

“Yes, sir. You…you didn’t say nothin’ about ‘em so I left ‘em on.”

There was a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

“Jesse, your socks are part of your clothing. Take off your god damned socks.”

He imagined he could hear arms crossed impatiently in the dark as he hastily peeled off the offending garments and pitched them away. He got back to his knees and snap, something cold, heavy, and rigid was clamped around his neck. He reached up instinctively to touch it. It was a smooth steel ring, about an inch wide, that fitted his neck with such precision, it was if it had been made for him, which indeed it had. It squeezed with just the slightest discomfort against the tendons of his neck when he moved his head, but not quite tight enough to restrict his breath. His head whirled with pleasure. He was kneeling in the dark with heavy steel rings around his neck and his cock, utterly at the mercy of his master. He shuddered and made a little sound like, “ah,” and the sonorous voice laughed softly.

“You like that.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse whispered.

“You like being my dog.”

“Yes, sir, ffffuck—” The screws bit deep into his cock.

“Get on your hands and knees. Do not look at me unless I tell you to. Do not move unless I tell you to.”

“Yes, sir.”

A stir of fabric, the scratch and hiss of a match being struck. The warm, orange glow as the wicks of several candles ignited. Jesse, knowing better, didn’t look up to see how many. He kept his head bowed, eyes fixed on the sharp edge of the grey marble where it met the plush carpet. Then on his master’s feet and the hem of his black silk robe as he stepped before him.

“Good. Good boy. Such a pretty dog.”

The hand took his hair again, pushing his face against the hard muscle of his master’s thigh, sliding against the black silk. Jesse actually whined. The other man made a sound like a growl, but it rang in Jesse’s ears as a signal of approval, which indeed it was. Jesse buried his face in the silk and strength and scent of his master. Nuzzling him like an affectionate animal. Almost panting like one. Actually panting. Sliding his searching mouth up and down against rigid shaft of his master’s cock beneath the fabric. His master stroked his hair with his fingertips, raising goosebumps all the way down Jesse’s back.

“Is that what you want? You want my cock?”

“Yes—yes, sir,” Jesse said hoarsely. His throat was suddenly dry. He tried to swallow.

“Do you deserve my cock?”

“No, sir—ah…”

Jesse groaned through his teeth and grasped his master’s robe with one hand. His cock was swelling against his will. The steel sheath constricting and grinding, the screws digging in. A sharp, openhanded slap across the face brought him back to himself. His cheek burned and stung. He dropped his erring hand to the floor without having to be told. His master pulled away. Jesse heard him moving a little way off. He scanned the floor and found his master’s feet. He’d seated himself on the edge of the bed.

“Crawl to me, dog.”

Jesse crawled. The collar squeezed his neck. The heavy steel sheath tugged at his cock, chafing against the thin skin with every movement. He dropped his head into his master’s lap like a lead weight.

“Good boy. Now beg me, like a good dog.”

Jesse nuzzled and pleaded. His master slid the black silk aside, parting it to expose the thick, hard shaft and swollen, ruddy head of his cock. Jesse craned his neck, reaching for it with his open mouth, but his master caught him by the hair and rewarded him with another ringing slap.

“Impatience will get you nothing, dog.”

Still holding Jesse firmly by his hair, he stood up. Jesse waited, perfectly still, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His master tapped his wet, open lips with the head of his cock.

“Beg.”

“Please, sir. Please may I have your cock?” he said breathlessly.

His master hooked his bottom teeth with his thumb, opening him wide, and pushed the full length of his cock into Jesse’s mouth to the back of his throat. Jesse gagged and pulled back. His master held his head still, thrusting into his warm, wet throat, fucking his mouth until he thought he’d pass out from lack of oxygen. But his master knew his business. He pulled Jesse’s head back and let him take a desperate, sputtering breath.

“I thought you wanted my cock,” he purred.

“I do, sir. I do,” Jesse gasped. “Please sir.”

Jesse opened his eyes. Another strident slap shut them instantly.

“Do not look at me, dog.”

His master moved away. He heard a scrape, a drawer opening and shutting. A thin, metallic clink. Keys. He gasped and twitched as his master took abrupt hold of his cock. He held it firmly in his warm hand and Jesse felt the click of the sheath being unlocked. The sudden tenderness of the raw skin exposed to the air. The thunk of the heavy piece of steel hitting the carpet.

“Lie on the bed. Face down.”

Jesse clambered onto the bed with less grace than he would have liked, and lay face down as he was told. The mattress bowed as his master knelt on the bed behind him. He took Jesse by the hips and lifted him onto his knees, ass turned upward, exposed and presented to his view. Jesse heard a plastic cap being unscrewed. He gave a start as a cold, viscous liquid drizzled over his asshole. His master laughed, soft and low and pushed a finger slowly into his asshole. Then a second finger. He hooked them and Jesse bucked and shivered. His cock swelled and drooled. He trembled. Shook like a newborn colt.

And suddenly there is no more Jesse and no more master and nothing else for that matter. There is only the deep aching, the thrust and impact, the rough slide between them. Jesse whimpers and pushes back against his master’s thick, solid shaft. He wants more. He takes it all the way to the base. His master thrusts harder until he’s pounding, panting, losing control. Jesse’s hot hole clamps down on him like a vise. He claws his fingers underneath that collar and yanks.

“Come, dog,” he snarls.

Jesse comes. Instantly. Comes so hard his vision goes black. Every muscle in his body wound up and straining as he sprays the bedcover slick and wet. At the same time he feels the sharp, irregular thrusts of his master’s ejaculation deep inside him. Jesse tumbles onto his stomach right into the wet, cold mess he’s just made and laughs. A dreamy, blissful laugh. He rolls onto his back and lays there panting and giggling like a giddy child.

“What is so very funny, Jesse?”

The cowboy pulled his lover into his arms and kissed his face. The man drew back. His almond shaped black eyes looked apprehensively into Jesse’s big amber-brown ones.

“Was it…did I do it correctly?”

“Oh, Hanzo, honey it was perfect. So perfect.”

The other man appeared pleased. He laid his head in the crook of Jesse’s neck and played with the curly hairs on his chest.

“I love you, Jesse,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

They lay in contented silence for a while, then Jesse said, “Darlin’, I may be gettin’ greedy, but it’s my fortieth birthday and I think I’m ok to want to be indulged. Could I ask you for one teeny, tiny little thing? Then everything would be picture perfect.”

“What is it, Jesse. Anything.”

“Anything? You promise?”

“I promise,” his lover said unwarily.

“Ok, I want to dress up in them fancy suits you got us and I want you to take me out to dinner.”

“Of course.”

“To dinner,” Jesse continued, “at Gary’s Grub ‘n’ Go. And I’m gonna sit there and watch you eat an entire Brownie Blaster. Whipped cream and all.”

 


End file.
